The front porches of the cottages leading down to Mill Street opened to tree lined streets. On summer evenings the front porch was where the days were revisited and tomorrows were discussed and dreams were shared.
When the morning has begun, I see the lake, set hard in January.
The frozen fog above the horizon
and a chilled pastel sky.
Then with the passing morning there is restlessness.
I walk to the harbor, it’s changed, and there are no sounds.
The silence made me wonder.
I wondered where summer had gone.
I wondered why I hadn’t seen the joys that winter brings.
But here they were, all for a walk out my back door.
And as I walked through the harbor
I realized I had forgotten to see what brings me back
and now I remember.
It’s those things I never see,
those things never looked for, until I am reminded of the silence.
And now I know why I walk out my back door.
© Robert Frink Jr. 01-12-2010